


Ash and Emotion

by LdotRage



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Romance, Zelink Zine, Zine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 19:28:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18901141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LdotRage/pseuds/LdotRage
Summary: Zelda closed her eyes on the end of the world, and she woke up a century later with nothing to her name but memories and ash.For Link, she supposed, there had been only ash.(Written for the 2019 ZeLink Zine)





	Ash and Emotion

**Author's Note:**

> So the ZeLink zine is finally out at zelinkzine.tumblr.com, which means I can finally post my finished piece! I agonized over this one a fair bit, so hopefully it turned out alright :)

Link’s home truly was beautiful. Located on the peaceful outskirts of Hateno, right next to a scenic grove, atop a cliff that offered a beautiful view of the sunset; it was perfect. Nearly every evening, Link sat on the edge of that cliff to enjoy that view, and Zelda couldn’t fault him for it, even if she was far too uncomfortable to join him.

But now?

Zelda stood in the doorway, gripping the knob tightly, and stared at Link’s vague silhouette on the edge of the cliff. The sun had long since set, and the dim light of dusk was beginning to fade. Yet, like every day for the past week, Link showed no signs of coming back inside.

She’d been putting it off for too long. Without giving herself time to lose her nerve, Zelda pushed off the doorframe and crossed the clearing with quick, certain strides.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

Apparently, he’d been aware of her presence for a while, because the accusation didn’t seem to catch Link off guard. He paused for barely a second, then spoke, his voice carefully composed.

“Sorry.”

He didn’t even try to deny it.

Zelda refused to let herself be annoyed. “Tell me―” She remembered her place, stopped short, and took a deep breath. “I would like to know why. …Please.”

He  _ must _ have seen the question coming, but, this time, Link paused long enough for the silence to become heavy and oppressive, his hand flitting over to the hilt of his sword. Eventually, he lowered his head, still not turning to face her, and jerkily shrugged his shoulders.

Once the irrational spike of petty anger had receded, Zelda took another breath and continued. “Is this about something… back then? …Before the Calamity?”

“I don’t remember any of that.” He said it flatly, very matter-of-fact, but there was a hint of something familiar in his tone―something Zelda could understand intimately. Bitterness.

“I thought… you’d remembered. Partially,” she said, slow and wary.

It was too dark to parse Link’s reaction. “…Not enough,” he said softly.

Zelda winced. “Link… you don’t have to remember me to―”

“I’m not talking about  _ you,” _ Link interrupted sharply, “I’m  _ talking  _ about  _ me.” _

Something ugly and wounded reared up in Zelda’s chest, churning with guilt and indignation until she ruthlessly yanked it back down. She clenched both fists in the hem of her skirt. This was foolish. Coming here had been foolish. She needed to leave now, before she did any more damage.

Zelda remembered how many times Link had saved her life, and she stood her ground. “What are you…?” She trailed off, then steeled herself. “Explain―explain what you mean.”

The sudden tension in Link’s shoulders didn’t vanish, but he did seem to relax a bit as he leaned back on his arms, legs kicking idly over the side of the cliff. “You,” he said after a moment, “I remember.” He absently tore up a fistful of grass. “Not everything. But.” Another careless shrug.

She reminded herself that she had no right to be happy about that. “Then…?”

“I don’t,” Link answered before she could ask, “remember anything about  _ me.” _

This was so blatant in retrospect that Zelda could do nothing but stare for a moment, dumbstruck. Link slowly leaned back until he landed on the grass with a soft  _ thwump.  _ The Sword slid out of his lap.

“…Did I,” he mused aloud, “like to fight?” What little she could see of his face was completely blank. “Was it easy? Fun? I worked hard. Why?”

Zelda had the answers to none of those questions, so she had no choice but to stay silent, even as she inched closer to him.

Luckily, Link wasn’t waiting for answers. “Who taught me?” he continued, head listing to the side. “My parents? My father? Why? Did I want to learn? Did they even ask?”

Abruptly, his head snapped around, and she jumped. “Did I love my father?” he asked urgently, his eyes piercing through her. “Or did I hate him for making me shoulder his legacy?”

Seventeen years of speech practice in the royal courts, and still, Zelda floundered. “I-I―”

Link tore his eyes off of her and sat up sharply. “Or did I not  _ care?”  _ he continued, running an aggravated hand through his hair. “Did I accept his legacy? Was I proud? Did I  _ want  _ to be your knight?” He reached for the sword without looking at it. “I know that I  _ did _ it, but did I  _ want  _ to? Or did I just―go along with it because I knew I couldn’t say no?”

His name clawed up Zelda’s throat like a living thing, but it left her lips without a purpose. “Link―”

Once more, his head jerked towards her, his ponytail snapping through the air like a whip, and he leveled her with a fierce, wild look that he usually reserved for people who tried to kill her.

“Did I even  _ like _ you?!”

Zelda’s voice vanished between her lips, and all that came out was a soft  _ whoosh  _ too quiet to even be considered a gasp.

_ Then, I suppose it’s simple. A daughter of Hyrule’s royal family yet unable to use sealing magic… he must despise me. _

Some of what she was feeling must have shown on her face, because the animosity faded from Link’s eyes as quickly as it had appeared. “No,” he croaked, stretching out one hand, “wait―”

He let out an incomprehensible noise that might have once been a sentence, then fell quiet, his eyes flickering to the ground and his hand retreating back into his lap. The silence stretched and thickened between them, weighing upon her shoulders like Malice.

“I’m… sorry,” Link said finally, his voice even more hoarse than usual. “I just…”

He trailed off, then turned back towards the cliff, his hair hiding his face from view. Slowly, he drew both knees to his chest.

“…Do you have any idea,” he began, so quietly that she almost couldn’t hear him, “how confusing you are to me? …How confusing it is to  _ be  _ me?”

Zelda could summon no response. It was a rhetorical question, she knew―no one could understand what it was like to be Link. Not really. But she was the closest he was going to get.

She, like him, had closed her eyes on the end of the world, and she woke up a century later with nothing to her name but memories and ash.

For Link, she supposed, there had been only ash.

“I can only imagine,” she managed to choke out eventually, but Link didn’t respond. He just sat, idly rubbing the fabric of his trousers between his finger and his thumb, for a long time. Zelda squirmed. “Link…”

“He loved you, you know,” Link said.

It was a blessing that Link was turned away, because she couldn’t begin to guess at the look on her face. “You―” She caught herself; dug her nails into the meat of her palms. “He?”

“The Champion,” Link clarified, drumming his fingers against his knee for a moment, then going still. “…I’m… I’m supposed… to―I’m su―supposed to―”

He cut himself off, paused, and began again. “I’m supposed to… protect you. To―” He shook his head distractedly―  _ “want _ to protect you. To be loyal. Be… chivalrous. To―love you.”

And Zelda―Zelda had  _ no  _ right; she had  _ no right _ to feel betrayed―so she breathed deep, deep,  _ deep,  _ and tried not to look like she’d been gutted. “If you don’t… feel that way… towards me, then that’s―”  _ No right; you have no right to him―  _ “that’s perfectly understandable.”

But Link shook his head. “That’s,” he said quietly, “…not it.”

She had no right,  _ no right, _ to be so relieved. And yet. She forced her fists to loosen. “Then―” Deep breaths. “Then, what’s the problem?”

This time, the pause was brief. “It’s not mine,” Link said shallowly, gripping the grass like the last handhold on a sheer cliff. “It’s not mine. It’s…  _ his.” _

Zelda’s brow furrowed. “What? Link… you  _ are _ the Champion. Whatever’s  _ his _ is also  _ yours.” _

“You’re wrong,” he said quietly.

“I―what? Link, you’re―why is that wrong?” She struggled to stay composed. “Link, you’re the Champion. You  _ are.  _ Whether you remember or not.”

Link lowered his head.

“But he―was fearless,” he said haltingly, one hand white-knuckled on his knee and the other quivering against the soil. “And I’m… scared. So―who’s lying?”

Zelda felt suddenly and overwhelmingly out-of-her-depth. “No one’s lying,” she said uselessly; then, hands fluttering with nerves, she carefully knelt by his side, folding her legs beneath her. “Why… are you scared?”

Link raised his head to look at her. His face was twisted oddly, as if it didn’t quite know what to do with itself, but his eyes were heart-rendingly open. She couldn’t move an inch.

“It’s not mine,” Link said again. “None of this is mine. None of these feelings are―I don’t even remember why―”

He abruptly cut himself off, and his eyes flickered down. “…I don’t even  _ remember,” _ he repeated, staring at the grass between them. “So why… why do I still―?”

Again, he stopped short, and he turned away, avoiding her gaze like a charging Lynel. Zelda held her breath.

“…At first,” he said, painfully soft, “I resented you. But, even then, I never stopped… loving you.” He gripped his knees tightly. “I don’t think I can. Frankly, I… don’t think I want to.”

He glanced at her, just for a second, then quickly looked away. Her heart pounded.

“I’m in love with you,” Link said, “just like he was.” Slowly, he wrapped both arms around his knees, drawing them up to his chest. “…And I’m scared―that―” His voice trembled. “That, if I spend more time with you, I’ll either figure out why he loved you, or I won’t. And, either way, it’ll mean that―that this was never mine. And that… it never will be.”

Zelda blinked rapidly. Whether there were tears in her eyes or she was just overwhelmed, it was hard to say, but, regardless, her vision swam. Link buried his face in his knees, holding on as if he couldn’t let go for fear of leaving himself behind.

Zelda surged forward too quickly; her skirts caught on her knees, and she tripped, sprawling across Link’s shoulders haphazardly. It was an accident, but she wrapped her arms around him without hesitation nevertheless. Beneath her, Link jolted, his head jerking up, eyes wide and startled. His hands darted up to steady her automatically, one clutching at the waist of her dress and the other landing on her shoulder, feather-light.

“Zel―?”

Kicking one foot free of her petticoats, she struggled back onto her knees, but she didn’t pull away―she leaned back and yanked him close, and he was surprised enough to let her. Link’s elbow briefly knocked against her nose, but she didn’t let go―if anything she held on tighter, drawing Link into her lap as he scrambled for balance―and then she placed a hand firmly on the back of his head and crushed it against her chest.

Link made a panicked, uncomprehending noise, but he didn’t pull away, either; he froze solid. He was crumpled uncomfortably in her embrace, his arms smushed between their bodies and his legs awkwardly stretched out behind him, but Zelda couldn’t bring herself to care.

She pressed her face against the top of his head, closed her eyes, and hugged him tight.

“Whatever you feel,” she said, her voice thick with emotion, trembling under the weight of it, “are your feelings. They don’t belong to him. They belong to you. And I―I’m―” A single tear began to well up, and she squeezed Link until it vanished. “I’m not his, either, I’m―yours. If that’s what you want, then―I’m right here.”

She felt the shaky breath that Link sucked in; the rapid beat of his heart in his neck; the tremors that ran through his body as he clutched Zelda’s dress with one hand. “I―” he said, his voice high and panicked and truly overwhelmed. “I―” He trembled, gripping the fabric so tightly that it would probably leave permanent imprints―

Hiding his face in the collar of her dress, he let out a single sob, let his weight sink into her, and didn’t say another word.


End file.
